My Hero
by ladymetachronism
Summary: Neville's years at Hogwarts, all blunders and people involved on the path to his selfconfidence. Wow, that sounds pretentious. Well slash, various romances, and some abusive boyfriends. Yay. Three chapters up so far, probably all there will be, until my m
1. Chapter 1

**My Hero**

Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: Unfortunately, I don't own any of these cool kids. I do, however, own the crap I put them through.

**Note**: Slash warning, obviously. Some brief language, and implied abuse- but read anyway, and I hope any confusion you might have gets cleared up in later chapters. Harry's character is a little AU, but I've tried to justify the changes to the best of my ability. Just- read it. You'll see later.

It was kind of... familiar. I hadn't meant to, but I was starting to remember things. A little out of character for me, to be sure. It wasn't as though I had blocked it completely out of my memory, I had mostly avoided the thought. Ten years ago, Malfoy had been my friend.

I lived at 23rd Maple Court. Malfoy lived down the road.

Ours was a lavish house, like many of the purebred family's homes, passed down through the centuries- we had this fabulous chandelier that hung in the foyer- it used to sparkle in the moonlight that streamed through our french windows. But I didn't spend much time inside... I preferred to sit on the bench in the patio out back and stare into the distance. I was one of those outfielder kids, in Muggle speak- the kind who would get hit in the head with a baseball during the Little League games their desperate father figures put them into.

We had grounds, too- there was this creek that ran through a section of particularly shady birch trees, I used to play in it, and come home all muddy and wet and smiling.

I met Malfoy when I was four. There was some remaining animosity between our 'mothers' from the War, but mostly they didn't mind us spending time together.

Draco hadn't known his father for the first six years of his life. Mr. Malfoy was in Germany, picking up from where the War had left him- friendless, master-less, and hated by much of the wizarding community. I suppose he just figured it would be better to leave the child with Narcissa and their piles of money, at least to keep the boy from unnecessary cruelty.

Draco had a tree-house. We'd used to pretend to be detectives and the tree-house was our hideout. There was also this rope-swing in our backyard that had been there for years, and Draco and I used to take turns seeing who could jump farthest from it. I tried showing him my creek, once- but Malfoy was Malfoy and getting dirty just wasn't his cup of tea.

It was when his father returned that Malfoy started getting cold and distant. I didn't talk to him much throughout first and second grade, distracted by Gran's fascination in this 'squibism' and how I was acquiring it. Then in third grade I was sent to a remedial school for young wizards- and Draco continued to be home-taught by his father.

I came back summer of fourth grade, and Malfoy was suddenly the Big Bully on the Block. Well- court. And after a few blows to the nose, I began to forget that this boy had ever shown any compassion to me.

So it was with all confusion that I had taken Draco's invitation and come here tonight.

I didn't have to wait long. If Draco was to show up at all, he would do it quickly. He acknowledged my presence briefly before grabbing my hand and pulling me into an empty classroom. He motioned me not to speak, and so I didn't. We sat down.

"Let me just get right to it. I saw what he did to you last night. I want to- wait, get back here!"

I had immediately jumped up and rushed at the door. Malfoy was quick to pull me back again.

"Okay, calm down. I'm not doing this because I like you- in fact, on other terms I'd glee at the prospect of you getting hurt- but I don't want to see someone else taken down so completely. I don't want to see this happen to you, too."

"How do you- wait, you? He- okay, no. I don't want to know about that. Maybe you saw something, but you probably mis-misinterpreted it. It doesn't matter."

Draco tried again, but I let my eyes flick to the floor before rising and leaving. He let me go.

I didn't go back to my dorm that night. In all honesty, I was afraid. If Harry knew that Malfoy knew that- well, I would be in deep shit.

Instead, I went to the Astronomy Tower.

The view from there was awesome. I'd say it was my favorite place on the grounds, second only to the Greenhouses. No one had come up to fuck yet, and there were no classes taking place, so it was relatively quiet. Quiet enough to give me a chance to think. So quiet any remaining semblance of sanity would be chased away by the quickly circulating thoughts.

He knew. Somebody saw. Moreover, he led me to believe that it had happened to him, too. And hadn't Harry clearly stated that they were the only ones like... this, in the whole castle? I was still having difficulty grasping the concept that Malfoy would even let anybody do something like that to him.

Harry said he was the only one who could ever love me. He smiled, saying the first scratches were just love notes. And the cuts got deeper and I let it happen.

Harry used to be my hero.


	2. Chapter 2

**My Hero**

Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I own not these rad children, but I do own whatever situations they're forced to be pawn to. Yay.

**Note:** Slash and another brief swear word... Also, this chapter might be a bit confusing, points-of-view change frequently and I've used some more, well, _poetical _writing techniques that don't really make sense to anyone other than me. But be patient. All of this will be explained in due time. Let the writer be crazy. : )

A.He handed me the grape one. How kind of him to notice I liked grape best.

F.The tree-house is exactly as I last saw it. Draco says he sealed it against his father and against his old life.

I wonder if he was trying to protect the tree-house or if he wanted to forget.

G.The juice box has a huge grape as its label. The grape is smiling and jumping rope.

A.We're suddenly laughing. The laughing turns to crying and Draco slams his fist against the wall. Wood chips are flying and I pull my legs to my chest. Draco collapses and sobs.

C.

D.

E.

F. on't know how this happened and I don't know why I'm here.

G. I d

H. on't know.

I.

Draco's arms are pulling around my waist and he's crying into my chest. Purely undignified tears are pouring onto my green tee-shirt and I look up just quickly enough to stroke the back of his neck.

I want to go home now.

He hated coloring the people most. Because they hand you white paper and you don't always want to draw sickly white people. But shading them was like putting on a mask; it was like they couldn't breathe beneath it.

Dean was not an exceptional artist. But he had to do his subjects justice.

So Dean goes out and finds a brown paper bag and rips it apart until it resembles paper and asks Padma to pose for him. The brown paper works well enough.

Neville has beautiful eyes. The fact that it's Neville matters little to me, but I like knowing he has beautiful _something. _

I can't decide if they're blue or green. Isn't that just typical? Maybe I should call it hazel. But even then it's not right.

I need to stop thinking about this. Even though hazel looks absolutely. Breathtaking. With brown hair. Ha. Neville. Breathtaking. I must really be going nuts.

I could always talk to Hermione.

Why was that, anyway? Maybe I am a faggot. I can only talk to girls.

But it doesn't matter. She pulls back my hair and whispers that it will be alright. And although I feel alone and empty, she holds my hand and smiles.

I've always been so ordinary. Why does this have to be my one dividing point?

If I could have picked anything, anything to separate me from the rest of the world and make me glow or burn with pride or infamy- well, it wouldn't be because I liked boys. I mean, seriously.

"Neville has the hots for Harry," George or Fred or- fuck, Gred- coos after me in the hallways outside charms the other day. Please, not that again. I go to my dorm only to find my trunk ransacked and lube smeared over my bed sheets and toothbrush and things missing. You'd think I'd have more sympathy in a school for _magical, wand-weilding wizards. _The irony of it all is singeing.


	3. Chapter 3

**My Hero**

Chapter Three

**Disclaimer**: Unfortunately, I don't own any of these lovely little brats. I think you know this by now, but you know, lawsuits and all.

**Note**: Slash obviously. Sexual... implications, I guess. I flit around a little at the beginning, but I'm sure you'll catch on quickly. And the abuse is tackled a lot more in this chapter. Sorry if you don't like that, but that's where this is going. Anyway, you may begin?

I guess it all began five years ago, in second year. Here I was, a twelve-year-old boy, increasingly becoming a self-perceivedly-hormonally-challenged youth. The thing being- I didn't like girls. Like, at all.

Mostly this didn't bother me; I just acquitted it as some rare testosterone-release malfunction, and nothing... more severe. Unfortunately, I couldn't be blind forever, and along came my third year.

Four years ago, I began to notice things. In the plain- I began to notice boys. A lot.

It frightened me.

I went to Hermione with my findings fourth year. After dwelling on and fighting with and denying the prospect for two years. She somehow understood; she somehow didn't care.

Sure, I felt a little better, but so incredibly alone.

Draco's hand slipped behind my neck and pulled forward. It was a motion I would imitate in the future, but I wasn't ready for it now. I flinched, eyes flicking briefly to stare at him in disgust before ducking beneath the arm and leaning away. His steel eyes glared holes in me, but I refused to meet them. He understood my pain but had since buried his.

Harry had given up on _me_. That's how it ended. No amount of heroics on mine or anyone else's part; just Harry realizing he could do better than Neville. Miserable, ordinary Neville.

I was still scared to be with anyone else after. Harry's haughty gaze, his meaningful stride. His deadly green eyes. I'd met a boy at a pub some years after, with eyes that green. His name was Tom, so he said. I didn't give him a minute before I was out the door and running across the street to flag down a car.

Everything was magnified. A word probed until it became a plethora of unmatched, parallel beings. A touch was fire. A kiss was death.

Two nights after I had first talked to Draco, or rather, he had talked to me, Seamus found his way onto my bed. Harry was out for the night; he and Ron and an only halfheartedly-unwilling Hermione had tromped into the forest to help Hagrid with something or other. Harry had kissed me and told me to stay put. And I honestly, very much did.

"Neville,' Seamus grinned, plopping with a soft 'clush' onto my feather comforter.

I gave him my best 'no games,' look, knowing perfectly well how _spectacularly_ that would work on Seamus. He responded by loping an arm around me and, all in one great motion, pulling me onto his lap. I groaned.

"Neville, my boy, how is life treating yeh? How's the _girlfriend_?"

Climbing from beneath Seamus' arm, I folded my arms and stared anywhere but at him.

"Harry's not a girl, Seamus, you know that."

"Jesus, boy, have you gotten a look at him? Oh- you _have_, haven't you? Because," Seamus' face lit up as he saw mine began to redden, "if you haven't, I'll tell you, that cock's pretty sm-"

"Shut _up, _Seamus. That's not funny at all."

"Ha ha, just playing with you."

I tried to scoot back, put a little distance between us, but Seamus grabbed hold of the back of my head and pulled me around so I was against his chest, looking into his face. He grinned maliciously.

"Oh Neville, such a pretty little boy. I'm sure Harry must have so much fun-" Seamus pulled my face close to his, resisting my struggling, "shagging you," he said, lolling his tongue at me and thumping against the bed suggestively.

"Don't, Seamus," I mumbled helplessly.

Seamus cackled and pulled me into a rough hug.

The neck of my shirt fell over one shoulder, revealing a number of bruises and bites. Seamus moved very slowely, trace-like, in folding back cloth and pulling the remainder of my arm out of the sleeve. A line of bruises and cuts all the way down slowly danced into sight. Seamus' voice caught in his throat and his entire disposition changed.

"Neville, what are," looking up, "these from?"

I pulled my sleeve back and freed myself from his clutches, but it was too late.

"It wasn't... . Not what you're thinking of, Seam-"

Seamus gave me an incredulous look.

"Look lad, all I was doing was in light play- I didn't, you know, mean anything by it... but if someone else is..."

"No! I mean..."

The boy's eyes narrowed as he mentally put the pieces together.

"Neville- oh my god, never, _never _let him do this to you again. I can't believe I..."

Seamus in turn gulped and bit his tongue. He suddenly pulled me into a protective hug, quite unlike the mock-lovegrip of earlier. I sighed and let him.

"Neville, if this happens again... and I can see it's been happening a while, _tell _me, for god's sake. But... Neville?"

I looked into his pale face attentively. The seriousness of his expression clashed delightfully with the freckles splattered across his nose, and I let my gaze drift to his eyes.

"_Don't_ let it happen again, okay?"

I looked, absorbed in his blue eyes, and nodded submissively.


End file.
